Sunday, two years ago: the perfect slave

“Sunday, two years ago: the perfect slave” was written for BDSMforyou.nl by B-liever.

It is Sunday, June 24, 2018, now more than two years ago. The sun is shining into our room; the door to the sheltered garden is open. He lies at my feet: the perfect slave. It is what I wanted, and he could be it. Not that he understood that back then. He blurted out his wishes and desires, and I kept him at a distance. I live my life and don’t waste it on frivolities or attention seekers. I was an interim manager back then, working 60+ hours a week, so free time is precious. He was a manager too, with a busy, demanding job. He had kids, had gone through a divorce – the whole shebang. My first thought when I heard all this was indeed: man, oh man, what a hassle.

The Perfect Slave

The perfect slave – he was the sweetest I had ever seen. A gentle face, kind eyes. He genuinely hesitated about whether to kneel. That’s what he’d written to me: he would kneel before my power. He stayed on the bench, the waverer. I knew he still had a lot to learn. His smile gave him away. I called him out on it immediately, and there he went. His knees and the tips of his shoes in the mud. Barely a speck to be seen, but he’d done it. Back then. A long time ago now. I wasn’t looking for a man, and in our first conversation I told him straight away that we would never have sex. At least, that wasn’t my goal, so it couldn’t be his desire either. I had a great fuck buddy – athletic body, great equipment, and when it came down to it, pure primal power. He nodded then.

Thank you

“Let my dreams come true” he said at some point. We were walking, and my hand grabbed his throat. I squeezed. No, I’m not bragging, but my grip is firm, my nails always perfectly painted and sharp. So they dug into his skin while my fingers felt his arteries beating faster and faster. I looked at him, he at me. His gaze was bold. “This is your dream, lower your eyes, put your hands behind your neck, and whisper: thank you.” That was all I needed to say to him. His eyes stared. He put his hands behind his neck, oh yes. But that look, completely fixed on my eyes. I held on. He was mine. Maybe not fully in his head yet, but I always get what I want. I wanted a perfect slave. The kind who lies at your feet on a Sunday morning when the garden door is open and the sun streams into the room.

Masturbating

I could tell by his eyes that he was running out of oxygen. His elbows dropped slightly. It sounded like “thank you.” My grip loosened for a moment, but I didn’t let go. I checked on him – his health, his breathing, the calm returning to his body. He coughed, sighed, turned his head. He didn’t look at me, but only past me and mostly at the floor. A wonderful moment! I asked him to masturbate. Yes, with that word: “masturbate.” He looked up. Then I snapped at him: “Jerk off, cum, shoot your load.” See my smile? Lovely, isn’t it? He can’t do it.

He didn’t hesitate but unzipped his pants. I looked at him like a teacher giving a student a little task as punishment. Under that gaze, he wouldn’t be able to accomplish even the simplest task. There he stood. The perfect slave. Jerking off what was supposed to stand so proudly, the splendor of his manhood failed to materialize. A delightful, sincere slave.

Let him grow

Finally, one who knew by nature what he was.

Was, is, wants to be, but can only be if there is the strength to allow him. I allowed him. I shared my disappointment, asked him to zip up his pants, and held out my hand. I was allowed a kiss on the hand: we understood each other. I enjoyed it, and if he, we, had been so much further along then, he would certainly have had my pussy, with as much devotion as there is in him. Licking, kissing, you name it, as long as I came. That wasn’t possible now. It was a first encounter, and I am a lady. You don’t break a man like that. No, you let him grow. That is precisely where the misunderstanding lies for so many people. They think, “slave, therefore restrict.” I don’t think; I act. I nurtured him. Compliment after compliment. I gave him boundaries. Slowly, we began to fill the time he had available for me. On the way to my perfect slave.

Daily Schedule

Then came a schedule for his free time, and not long after, we looked together at his daily schedule at work. He listened, followed, and bent completely to my desires. Does that make him a stupid and spineless creature? No, certainly not. He is a wise person, well-educated with a vision for things. We have wonderful conversations and discovered the strengths in each other that complement one another. He taught me how to deal with a few of my clumsy moments. Then he confessed his experience as a coach. I smiled. We’ve both switched careers. We now run a consulting practice together for professionals, companies, and business owners. Coaching, acquisitions, and management guidance. Still 60+ hours a week, but together in complete harmony and as equals. Until the door closes.

Fully Engaged

We don’t play games. Our life isn’t a game. He earns his salary, I earn mine. We live in a spacious home and share rooms, but we also each have our own space. He is my slave and therefore my complete possession. What I want happens, and we both do that out of complete freedom. That might sound twisted, but it is what it is. Sometimes it limits him; sometimes it’s difficult. We both choose this, and this intense relationship demands more from both of us. If we’re on vacation and I feel I need to spank him, he won’t go swimming for a few days. Simple – I don’t want any difficult questions, and if it has to be done, it has to be done. If I’m in the mood for sex and invite two gentlemen over, he allows it. He serves drinks, sits tied to the foot of our bed or, for example, downstairs on the couch watching soccer on TV. He hates soccer on TV, but that’s beside the point. Do you get what I mean?

My slut

He’s my slut and at the same time a man who has to live his life. So he also has a sub, a girl he ties up, spanks, and sometimes even fucks. He’s very careful about that. Once in a while I watch. Then I sit on my throne in our room. He really does his best then, shows off his best skills. I’m fine with it as long as the girl enjoys it and her submissive desires are fulfilled. I already told you it’s a complex life, but always under my strict guidance, which isn’t meant to be restrictive at all. I really wanted to dance, but he doesn’t dance. So I looked for the sweetest dance partner. Nothing sexual, no BDSM, just a man with swinging hips. He saw it, followed it, and decided to take dance lessons.

His effort deserves a compliment. The only thing missing was a relaxed posture. I taught him that. Just one evening at home. By candlelight, him in stilettos and stockings, a short dress—perfect. I let him twirl and was the man. Afterward, I fucked him in the ass. Hard, demanding, full of passion, just as it should be.

We’re different

That it fits is sometimes a surprise to me. We’re different. I wrote to you about our meeting back then. A man in a house with worries and so many desires. He had so many things he felt he had to do. I drew him to me, guided him, became the coach he so loves to be for others. Led him into my life. Now he’s my slave, lives with me, works with me, and does what I say. And you know what: he’s happy. He has more than he ever had, and yes, so do I. This is so fantastic that sometimes I feel like a princess from a Disney story living in a beautiful castle. The evil princess, of course. You know what I mean. And now he’s upstairs. Getting ready for a little party.

A dinner party I’m hosting with some friends. When he walks in, he’s wearing a CB and a collar. At first, I keep him on a leash and close to me. Then the leash comes off, and what needs to happen happens. As long as I smile and nod in agreement, my friends can do whatever they want. Mmm… maybe I control more than just that man. It’s wonderful, isn’t it, being dominant.

He described his dream

He introduced himself with this story back then. I asked him what life would be like, and he described my dream. The man’s dream, a woman’s dream, the dream of sadomasochists. People for whom SM is normal and therefore nice and pleasant. Away from vanilla and, at most, freedom if it really has to be. I knew that if he was the rough diamond that could become perfect through precise cleaving and careful polishing, I would be the same for him. That was the task: to remain who you are and yet mold yourself to the other. Only now do I understand that together we are one diamond; there were never two. We complement each other and fit together perfectly as Mistress and slave. Because I allowed him, and he adapted. That is what we mean when we speak of our success together. We know that more was needed. Much more.

Needles

Just like that first time with needles. We started with a simple checklist of dos and don’ts. It left room for play. Soon, nuances emerged. Needles went from no to maybe, and then came a whole host of conditions. We did it. Calmly, together, slowly, and I instilled trust in him, and he learned to enjoy surrender. The dildo got rougher. A rough game; I tied him up. Large size, and I pressed it against his body. He flinched, shivered. I placed my hand on his head, ran the dildo along his cheek, and pressed it against him. He cried. I told him it had to be done. Explained why. Also that it would hurt. He would feel raped and genuinely like a slut. I whispered softly that in his dreams afterward, he wanted to be a whore for his Mistress. He nodded understandingly. Of course he knew it had to be done.

Complete submission of my perfect slave

A lot of oil was used. Patient fingers. Big was replaced by smaller. That brought trust. Then you continue. Bigger, until the desired size. Then no more screaming, no more restraints holding him down. No, freedom and with it, complete surrender. As it should be, as it belongs between us, as I want it. He enjoyed it, understood it, accepted it. Every man who walks the femdom path knows this is coming. It must. For me as a woman, it is superior to see the resistance in his body, the fearful look. The victory when his pussy allows my cock. Him helpless and, after a few times, longing. After all, for him it is a beautiful way to show his submission to me. That’s how it went back then.

Now, more than two years have passed. When I see my perfect slave, I feel my need for others or for something different diminish. The life we have is good. I feel complete and whole. I am all-powerful. That is what he told me back then; that is what I am now. He is what he promised.

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Source

Text: B-liever
Image: 123rf.com